


The Mug

by usabuns



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: College AU, F/M, Modern/Normal AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4729643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usabuns/pseuds/usabuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts with the shattering of ceramic on a checkered tile floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bam

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write some Gohan/Videl stuff so I whipped this up in class and edited it a bit. I plan to make this into a multi-chapter thing, so feedback would be appreciated. 
> 
> I'm sort of winging it with this story, as in I don't know where this is going to go or how it'll end. I have plans for a Goku/Chi-Chi fic, so you'll be seeing that soon, but for now I'll be working on this and some Vegebul fluff to add on to 'Sleep Deprived.'
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy and as always let me know if there are any typos!! :)

"The usual." He says it every afternoon at 2 o'clock sharp, and he'll continue to shout it at the barista over the swarms of other college students until he graduates. The café's always been busy at this time of day, and it will probably always be. 

A few 'Excuse me!'s and 'Sorry!'s later and he's navigated through the tables to the counter. The mug he's holding is a goodbye/good luck gift from his ever worrisome and coddling mother; it's light orange with four crimson stars painted on the front, and it's got a few chips and scrapes on the handle from months of use. He appreciates it, though; she is thoughtful, so he cannot complain much.

He hands it to the barista just as he's done every other day before today. It's the same blonde girl as every time before; her name is Erasa and she goes to the same university as him, however he's never claimed to have her in any classes. She winks at him and takes the mug. "Two dollars and fifty cents, hun." He is always oblivious to her flirting. 

The money's already carefully counted out and placed promptly into her fingers' grasp. He smiles and moves down to the pick-up area. It takes one minute and thirty seconds exactly on the dot every time, and it has to be, lest he be tardy to his next class. 

During the little time he has to wait for his coffee, he daydreams, gets lost in his own thoughts, just relaxes for a change. 

His mugs returns, now filled with the steamy, hot brown liquid he so covets. He cups it tightly, still partially zoned out, and twirls around on one heel when he bumps into something. 

Or more specifically, someone. 

She's short compared to him, maybe just a bit over five feet, with cropped, black hair and a slender form. The blue and yellow long-sleeved shirt she's wearing proclaims 'FIGHT', and if it weren't for her big, dazzling blue eyes, he would've thought she was a boy. Immediately, though, he can tell that she could probably beat him up in a heartbeat. 

This is a break from the routine. He's never seen her here before, and yet he feels as if somehow he knows her from somewhere else. Maybe he's seen a relative of hers? Do they attend the same school? 

"Hey! Watch what you're doing, idiot!" Her voice is light, sweet, gruff and livid. It's only then that he's truly pulled back into reality, and it is only then when he realizes that he's knocked her mug over. Shattered on the ground, its contents splattered across the floor. Some customers stare at them, while others ignore it and talk as if nothing's happened.

He adjusts his glasses and gives a sympathetic, awkward look. "S-Sorry! I didn't mean to knock into you like that!" He's on the ground, fumbling with shards of ceramic and calling over to the employees to bring towels. The girl crouches next to him and shoves him aside, scowling as she attempts to recover anything salvageable from the wreck. He hears her mumble about how that was her favorite mug and how she should kill him right now. 

He's already getting out his battered, black leather wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, "I'll pay for it, how much was-"

"-You've done enough damage. Go." He doesn't need to be told twice; the steam coming from her ears is practically visable. Hesitantly, reluctantly, he steps outside the doorway, face red and dignity faded almost completely. Sipping the coffee, he burns his tongue, and his mug shakes in his hands from embarrassment. Surely he must look like a complete fool. 

Today is a day he longs to forget, but he'll soon find out that that is not possible.


	2. Resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to publish this chapter so I could work on the next one! This has been sitting in my drafts for at least two weeks and I don't know why i never posted it :P
> 
> It's unedited, so tell me if you find any mistakes! 
> 
> Also, as a little side note, I won't be updating 'After' today, as I haven't quite finished the chapter! I'll most likely be publishing two chapters next Wednesday!

This time she's wearing a canary-yellow sweater that shows off her neck and shoulders; it appears to be too big for her, as it almost completely covers the white miniskirt she's got on and the sleeves nearly envelop all of her hands. 

She's got a shiny new mug grasped tightly in her hands; it's a scarlet color and on it is the face of a famous actor. He recalls that this actor was the go-to guy if you were making a martial arts film. How real the fighting was, he couldn't say. The contents have steam pouring out the top; he can see she's got tea today. 

He refuses to make eye contact, he's too embarrassed for that. So out of the corner of his eye he makes out her movements: subtle shifts in her posture and facial expressions. He can't tell if she's recognized him yet or not. He prays that she hasn't. 

The wait for his coffee seems like it's taking forever; it's got to have been at least three minutes by now. He shuffles his feet, turns so he's not facing her, whistles quietly to himself. She's still adding the necessary ingredients to her drink; she's still stirring it around, still adding sugar and honey and tasting it now and then. 

Their proximity is close; the scent of her perfume wafts into his nostrils (pomegranate, if he had to guess) along with the sweet smell of her chamomile tea. She is actually smiling a little, as he comes to notice. Somehow, seeing her happy instead of angry like yesterday makes him blush a deep crimson color. 

"Hey! You again?!" He jumps, stutters, chokes on his own spit, then finally turns to face the girl. Her gaze is accusatory, one eyebrow arched in what appears to be frustration and a hand sharply placed on her hip. She does not look as mad as he expected. That, on its own, is a huge relief. 

"Y-Yeah?" He's tugging on his collar, a habit his mother's said he 'does when he's anxious.' They lock stares; he feels like he's going to puke (from what exactly, he doesn't know.) For a while he just stumbles on his own two feet even though he isn't moving an inch. All he manages to squeak out is, "Y-Yesterday, right...?" 

It sounds like he's unsure od the question, like he thinks he's wrong, but that's all simply a ploy. Perhaps she'll go easy on him if he acts clueless. 

"How could I forget." She rolls her eyes pretentiously. He stiffens. Not good. She's already associated him with something bad. "You still owe me for that mug." He thinks of taking his wallet out and fishing out the necessary payment, but then he sees the small smirk on her face; realizes the tone in which she said it. Besides, she had declined money yesterday. 

"W-What do you mean? I'll g-give you the money, I swear! H-Here-" The innocent act always seems to help, but in this case she just snorts and pushes his hands away, disgusted. 

"Not money. I've got plenty of that, trust me." The way she says it isn't arrogant, just simply as if it were a fact that everyone knew. She doesn't look too proud about it, either. "I've heard a lot about you. You're the genius, aren't you? You've got perfect marks on all you exams? Straight A's, too?"

Maybe 'genius' was going a bit too far. He considered himself smart, and at the very most intelligent, but never once had genius popped up in his brain. Sometimes he was just too humble. 

Her query had answered one question, at least: she went to his school. He wasn't too surprised, but the thought made happiness bubble inside him. 

"Y-Yeah, I guess I am!" A failed attempt to lighten the already lifting mood. He thought he sounded a bit cocky, but there was no fixing it now. 

"I thought so. That means your name is...is..." She taps her chin, as if somehow that'll trigger a response. 

"G-Gohan. Yeah." He gulps, looking away. 

"Gohan," she repeats, tapping her chin again. The way she says it makes his heart flutter. "Well, I believe you owe me some tutoring." Tutoring? Out of all the favors he could've thought of --

"We'll start tomorrow," she continues, not even bothering to hear his opinion on the matter. "I've got a dorm. West building, third floor, unit 210. 6:00. See you there." 

He's frozen in place, the barista (this time, it's Erasa's co-worker, a buff, blond dude that looks to be of college age as well) shoves a half-cold coffee into his hands, complaining about how he's been holding out the mug for him for at least seven mimutes. 

Before Gohan can protest (or even speak), she's left the café with a smirk on her face; the scents of vanilla and embarrassment still lingering in the air.


End file.
